


Ser and the Maiden

by AndAllForAPrettyFace



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 08:22:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4256253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndAllForAPrettyFace/pseuds/AndAllForAPrettyFace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From DAKink prompt:</p><p>Lady Trevelyan is a fair bit younger than Blackwall. Blackwall is most definitely not nobility.</p><p>The “young, pretty, virginal noblewoman is roughly bedded by an older, rough-around-the-edges soldier/criminal/knight/etc” genre of bodice-ripping romance novel is currently pretty popular in Thedas. Lady Trevelyan has an embarrassing thing for it. Blackwall is more than happy to oblige.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ser and the Maiden

The fabric was the most difficult and crucial component.

There were plenty of expensive dresses that she could buy, and they would rip if you looked at them sternly, but Eve had no intention of ruining a perfectly good dress like that. Most of the cheap dresses she had found, conversely, for some unknown reason, were constructed out of some indomitable material that refused to tear without pulling a thread and leaving the fabric a tangle. It was such a nightmare. And as with most things in this good world, it was about compromise. The dress she wore was a moderate expenditure of coin and in a shade of violet that was pretty but had been all the rage in Orlais three seasons ago. The sound it made when rent was exquisite.

(She had blushed, when she found Blackwall skimming her book and laughing that low, certain chuckle of his; but there was no sense in being embarrassed, not when it could turn to something productive)

The cover was still pulled up on the bed, neatly made as if she had fallen asleep atop it, as an accident. She heard the door open quietly and then click shut. She heart quiet footsteps on the floor. She pretended she hadn’t, smoothing her skirt down, checking her neckline.

She fiddled with the book folded at her waist.

She heard him _growl._

Oh, Maker.

Eve’s eyes flew open. He’d changed into a rough shirt that wasn’t his, and his beard was a little wilder than usual. “Ser…” she whispered in pretended affront, looking up at him, one knee propped up on the mattress by her hip.

He all but vaulted over her prone form to pin her down, his hand clapping over her mouth. “I saw you making eyes at me, milady. Your father didn’t see it, did he? But I did. You wicked little creature, you, teasing me like that. Leading me on. Proper lady like you ought to be ashamed.”

Eve wriggled in his grasp, but his hands were hard on her forearms, and his full weight was bearing down on her. She tried to push up with her legs, and he ground against her, hips rotating down to push her body taut. Blackwall exhaled slowly, eyes roaming up and down her body, oh so slowly, fairly devouring her with his gaze.

(She remembered the first time they’d made love; his eyes on her had been like that then, too)

“Ser,” she gasped, “you’re mistaken; I never meant to lead you on in any way…”

“Oh, you did. At the arrival today, you in your pretty dress with your pretty soft hair and your pretty jewels.” His big hands came in swiftly to cup hard against her breasts. He squeezed. Eve moaned, eyes clenching shut again.

That left her hands free now. Eve knew enough pressure points that the might have had an even chance of breaking the big man’s grasp, but the Eve she was pretending to be had no such good sense. She swatted at him, futilely. “Ser,” she whimpered. “Ser Knight, oh please—you mustn’t—you mustn’t— I’m a maiden, pure and intact—”

He leaned in low, his beard scraping the bodice. “I’m no ‘ser,’ and I’m no knight, milady,” he growled. The fabric parted in his hand with a loud crack, like the sound of a lowborn guard slapping a virginal maiden’s cheek. Cool night air kissed her skin. “And you shan’t be pure and intact for very much longer, not if I have anything to say about it.”

Maker’s _mercy_ , she almost came just with the sound of the fabric and the sound of his voice. “No,” she whispered helplessly as he palmed her breasts, rubbed her pink nipples to stiff peaks. “No, no, no…” It somehow doubled her pleasure, just _saying_ the words; Eve wondered if this was how magic worked, with a word enhancing the act of evocation. “No, no, no,” she moaned as his mouth smothered hers, bruising her lips with crushing force.

As he tore the rest of the way down, she made a token effort to try and cover herself, but he wrested her hands away. “Your skin is so soft, milady,” he growled. “Oh, I am going to enjoy taking you. Breaking you. Dominating you.”

She couldn’t hide the way she was panting now, and when he started fingering her, she knew she was shamefully wet already.

“Virginal little cocktease,” he whispered. “You have the audacity to claim you don’t want this too?”

“No, no, never,” she whined, feeling her pleasure build.

Usually, he took his time with her, teasing her up slowly, but he worked in her hard and fast now. “You do,” he snarled, “little liar, girl—just a silly little girl, that’s what you are—you come for me now, little girl, come for me, _now_ —“

And Maker’s mercy, how could she not?

“Naughty girl,” he murmured, biting at her ear. “You don’t need to save yourself for a pampered lordling who doesn't know what to do with you. You need a proper man. Someone who wears proper armor and not a velvet doublet. Someone who keeps you safe. Someone who teaches you how to fuck.”

She could scarcely speak as he rolled her over, her dripping cunt smearing on the torn fabric. “I beseech you, ser—think on your Maker, ser—he did not put you in this earth for such base things as this—”

He laughed. “Oh milady, milady, quite the contrary.” He tore away the remainder of the dress, with little afterimages of that gorgeous ripping sound. “My Maker put me here on this earth to fight and to fuck; least that’s what I think he planned, since I’m good at both. And both’s what I’ll be doing.”

He slammed into her.

(She remembered losing her cherry to a dim but pretty stable boy one bored summer twilight when she was sixteen, and she remembered being utterly unimpressed. She pictured herself, sixteen and soft, and she pictured a man of Blackwall’s build and years and coloring pinning her helpless body, filling her, owning her, stretching her wide as his cock plunged in and out.)

Eve flailed and groaned as he drove into the innermost parts of her.

“You love it,” he growled, building quickly to a frenzy.

“You want it,” he added, feeling the burn.

“Beg me,” he finally concluded. “Beg me, you depraved little girl, you.”

Well, she resisted. It was expected. She struggled, but it was dreadfully difficult to keep your focus, and Maker, she wanted him, wanted to touch and know every inch of her body, and she wanted to be a virgin again so that he could tear her maidenhead anew. Her slender hands tightened to white-knuckled fists of fury on the scraps of violet dress.

“Please, I beseech you, ser, leave me be…” she whimpered. “Oh, ser—oh, ser—”

He laughed, rough and deep. He throbbed in her. He smelled of sweat and leather and steel.

“Oh, ser…” she whined.

He laughed. He pulled her thighs out wide until they burned with the strain. When the tension of holding herself up became too much, he bodily held her up, as if she weighed nothing.

“Oh, ser—!” she gasped.

He laughed. He slammed in harder, jolting her and rattling her teeth. “Naughty little girl. You’re mine, all mine. Say it; I want to hear it.”

“Yes—” she cried out. “Yes, yes—all yours, ser, I am yours, oh Maker—oh, ser—!”

She came again, hard and burning and painful and glorious, and he kept her there, refusing to let her recover, hand diving in between her legs and rubbing taut little circles around her clit until she was clenching and crying out again, over and over until her face was slick with sweat, and her defeated body lay limp in his arms, and when he found his peak, spilled in her, she could feel the silky violet fabric sticking to their skin.

He threw away the remains of the dress, off to one side of the bed, and helped her crawl properly under the sheets. “It seems a shame to waste that,” he nodded to the ruined fabric, dropping the character.

Eve laughed and kissed his mouth, dragging his bottom lip between her teeth. “I shouldn’t call it wasted, my love.”

Blackwall flushed, but she could see that he was pleased in spite of it. “That was alright, then? What you wanted?”

“It was _perfect._ ” She pressed her face to his chest, loving the scratch of wiry hair that grew there. She knew he felt awkward, ashamed even, sometimes, at being so much older than her. She hoped he understood how much she loved that, how much it drove her mad with wanting. “Utterly perfect.”

“Well,” he chuckled, “we’ll have to sort out what happens with our intrepid heroes next time. I can’t imagine this charming duo of wicked old guard and corrupted innocent girl have reached the end of their story.”

Eve groaned with desire. She fell asleep with him stroking her hair, his seed settling inside her, his gentle laugh warming her.


End file.
